Into the Highways and Hedges, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  The madman saith he says so--It is strange!

  Margaret was not brought out till she was nearly twenty.

  "She was ridiculously young for her age," her aunt said; "besides, threeunmarried nieces were too many, and Margaret was so unsteady that theleast taste of excitement turned her head."

  There was reason in all her remarks. A very little change excited Meg,as a very little champagne will excite habitual water-drinkers, and shewas remarkably youthful in her enthusiasms.

  Laura and Kate became engaged almost at the same time; Mr. Deane camedown to the family place in Kent, and there were grand doings before thejoint wedding.

  Ravenshill had not been so gay since the time when Mr. Deane's youngwife reigned there, and when the children pattered merrily about thepassages.

  Meg was always overjoyed when her father came home, and he on his sidewas inclined to be proud of his pretty daughter. She had developed fast,and was far prettier at twenty than when he had last seen her atsixteen. The youngest Miss Deane bid fair to rival Kate, who was theacknowledged beauty of the family.

  She was a slim fair girl, with a sweet rather thin face, and eagerinnocent grey eyes.

  Her looks were remarkably subject to moods. Her colour would come and gowhen she talked, and when she was with any one whom she cared for, andwho took the trouble to overcome her shyness, she would light up intoreal brilliancy of beauty. Alone with her father she was often gay, andalways intensely interested and sympathetic; with her aunt she was coldand constrained, having never overcome her childish horror of her.

  During Meg's childhood the dislike was chiefly on her own side; for Mrs.Russelthorpe troubled her head very little about the whims of heryoungest niece, but after she came out it was a different matter.

  Meg had always been the favourite child, and during this last visit hadbecome in some measure her father's confidante.

  She caught his opinions with a thoroughness and wholesale admirationthat delighted him; she brightened when he entered the room, andresponded eagerly to his lightest humour.

  There was no _arriere pensee_ in her adaptability. Meg loved her fatherand hated her aunt, and made no secret of either feeling; but hers wasnot a nature to lay plots, and she would have been astonished had sheguessed how often her aunt had said bitterly of late that "Margaret wascleverer than people fancied, and knew how to get round poor Charles".

  Mrs. Russelthorpe and her youngest niece walked into Dover one day toreturn a call.

  Mrs. Russelthorpe was determined that neither her own conscience nor theworld should accuse her of neglecting her duty; and, now that Meg wasfairly grown-up, she chaperoned her everywhere, with at least as muchvigour as she had expended on Laura and Kate.

  Meg, like her father, had a natural turn for society, but her aunt'scriticisms made her nervous, and she was apt to be both shy and absent.

  Some few people had been attracted by the rather pathetic charm that thegirl possessed; but, as a rule, nothing but monosyllables could be gotout of her in her aunt's presence, and she was generally accounted"disappointing".

  The July sun was blazing as the two ladies walked along the white Doverroad.

  They were offered red and white wine when they reached theirdestination; and either that or the hot room made Meg giddy.

  Her aunt cried sharply: "Margaret, are you quite moonstruck?" And thenMeg "jumped" violently, and spilt her wine on the carpet.

  "You want a breath of the sea to freshen you up, my dear," said herhostess kindly. "Run outside, and sit on the beach for a bit."

  "Oh, thank you," cried Meg; and lifted her soft eyes, with the suddensweet smile that always won old ladies hearts, and rather irritated heraunt.

  "I am so sorry I spilt your wine, I generally am stupid. I think you hadbetter get rid of me, and I should like to sit by the sea;" and she randownstairs before Mrs. Russelthorpe could raise an objection.

  A fresh wind crisped the surface of the water, so that it was coveredwith curly white flecks, and it was hard to tell which was bluest, seaor sky. Meg's eyes ached with sunshine; but it refreshed and exhilaratedher, and so did the salt breeze that tossed against her cheek.

  The beach was crowded with nursery-maids and children, niggers andPunches, and men selling indigestible gooseberries, and women with falselace.

  Meg bought some of the last--the hungry-looking vendor making her feelsad, even after she had paid an exorbitant price for the purchase.

  "Blessing on you, my lady, and may you never know a want, and live insunshine all your days, and tread on nothing but velvet with your prettyfeet, and have your hands always full of gold!" cried the beggar. Butsomehow the blessing sounded to Meg like a curse, and the envious hungerin the tramp's eyes made her shudder. "I hope some one else will giveyou more--it is all I have with me," she said gently, and stood lookingafter her _protegee_ as she trudged off.

  The woman was less lucky in her next appeal. The "'Arries" whom shepersecuted were inclined to chaff her, whereupon she responded with avolley of abuse. Meg blushed and got up to move away, when her attentionwas arrested by a man who had joined the group, and laid his hand on thetramp's arm.

  "I have a message for you," he said, "from the Lord, who has heard yourwords and is grieving for you; and for you," turning to the men, "fromthe Master, whose wrath is upon those who jeer at the unfortunate!"

  "He is a looney straight from Bedlam!" said one of the men.

  "I am not mad," said the stranger simply; and across Meg's mind flashedSt. Paul's answer, "I am not mad, most noble Festus!"

  This man reminded her of an apostle, but not of St. Paul--rather,perhaps, of St. Peter.

  There was an unmistakably "out-of-door" look about him, and he walkedwith an even springy tread, like one to whom exercise is a joy.

  He was about thirty years of age, burnt with sun and air. His deep setblue eyes had an intent expression in them, his mouth was partly hiddenby his curly fair beard.

  He clasped his hands, holding them straight in front of him, the sinewsof his wrists standing out like cord. A few idlers lounged withinhearing, ready for any free entertainment, religious or otherwise.

  Margaret stood still and listened. He spoke at first jerkily, with longpauses between each sentence, and with an anxious strained look in hiseyes as if he were waiting for inspiration.

  "The Lord has sent me to speak to you. His hand leads me--from one placeto another--to call the souls He died for to Him. I am unworthy, Icannot speak as I would--my words halt."

  "Cheer up, old man," called out a dissipated youth irreverently; and thecrowd giggled. Meg, standing on the outskirts, felt a pang of pity; shehad a painful sympathy with any one who was laughed at, but apparentlythe touch of mockery inspired rather than depressed him. He fixed hisblue eyes suddenly on the youth, who reddened and slunk back. "Ay,ay--it's to you the Lord is calling," he cried. "Speak, Lord! Speakthrough my lips that this soul may hear! He is crying aloud--turn--turnfrom the path of destruction. He stands in the way to stop you! His armsare spread out wide--His feet are bleeding. The pain of the nailscrushing through them was sweeter to Him than the smoothness of theCourts of Heaven. Among His many mansions His soul is still in pain forthe children created of His Father. He rests not day or night till Hehas drawn them to Him. Behold the hunger for souls is upon me--even uponme--and what I feel is His Spirit moving in me. Come--ye who are weary.He had not where to lay His head. Come--ye who weep--for the Man ofSorrows has tasted the cup of bitterness and He only can comfort.Come--ye who have sinned. He fought wi' that devil, and conquered him.Lord, Thou art standing by my side now, as Thou didst stand on theshores of Galilee; but this people's eyes are holden that they cannotsee Thee. Yet let us kneel before Thee, for Thou art here!"

  He flung himself on his knees as he spoke, and looked up as if his eyesindeed beheld the "Son of Man" in their midst.

  "Kneel! Kneel!" he cried imperatively; and swayed by his intense belief,his strong personal magnetism, his he
arers knelt.

  In the dead silence that followed, Meg's heart was beating wildly, shealone did not kneel; perhaps her education made any display of religiousemotion more repugnant to her than to the rest of his audience; but herknees were shaking under her, and she turned white with the intensity ofthe awe with which she realised the presence of God.

  "Lord, we kneel to Thee. We acknowledge Thee our God. We will followThee in all things, counting riches as nought, and throwing aside thepleasures of this world. Thou who wast poor among men, andtravel-stained and weary, shall be from henceforth our King andPattern," he cried, still looking up as if making a vow to One whom hisbodily eyes beheld. Then suddenly his glance fell on Meg.

  "There is one here who does not kneel to Thee yet," he cried. "Oh, myGod, touch her, melt her! The daughters of Jerusalem followed Theeweeping. Mary wept at Thy cross. Wilt Thou not draw her too? this woman,who longs to come to Thee, but fears----" Then, with a ring of triumphin his tone, as if an answer had been vouchsafed to him:--

  "He calls you!" he cried. "You have chosen for Him! Kneel!--kneel! Pourout your soul in thanksgiving!" And Meg, sobbing, fell on her knees.

  She heard little of the oration which followed; she did not know that aman behind her was groaning over his sins; that two girls had beenpersuaded to take the pledge; that one tipsy old woman was proclaiming,somewhat pharisaically, that "she'd been converted fourteen years ago,and 'adn't no call to be 'saved' fresh now."

  The preacher's voice and the splash of the waves on the shingle soundedfar away and indistinct.

  Always she had longed for a personal revelation of the Christ; and nowit came to her.

  As she had never realised before she realised now the "travel-stained"Son of the Father, whose mighty love had made the joys of Heaven paintill the lost were found. Ah, well! Since the day of Pentecost, andbefore, it is through man's voice that that revelation has come, andthrough men who have been baptised with a fiery baptism.

  Presently they began to sing; and some one officiously touched hershoulder, and said, "Ain't you a-goin' to join, miss?" And she stood up,feeling as if dazed by a sudden fall.

  Her overwrought nerves were jarred.

  The claptrappy tune, the overdone emphasis, the vulgar intonationdistressed her; she was ashamed of the feeling, but could not help it;she turned to walk away. The preacher paused in the middle of a line.

  "You have put your hand to the plough; you will not turn back!" he criedpleadingly. The public appeal annoyed her for a second, but when she methis eyes, bright with an earnest desire to "save her soul," her angerdied.

  "I hope not," she said gently; and walked away with his fervent "Godhelp you!" ringing in her ears.